


Her Throne

by Iris_the_Messenger



Series: Sylveth Prompts [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Consensual Sex, Desk Sex, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Married Sex, No beta we die like Glenn! (cries), Oral Sex, Seteth and Paperwork Aren't Getting In Our Boy's Way, Smuff, Sylvain misses his wife, Sylveth Prompt, Tainting All That Is Sacred Since Rhea Isn't Around, Throne Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:54:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27821821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iris_the_Messenger/pseuds/Iris_the_Messenger
Summary: With their days seemingly filled with never ending paperwork and responsibilities, its only natural for Sylvain to miss his wife. Whatever shall he do about it...?My final prompt for Sylveth Week, a bit late to the party, but still I humbly offer for Day 3 "Free Day"
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/My Unit | Byleth
Series: Sylveth Prompts [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021279
Comments: 7
Kudos: 68





	Her Throne

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for any errors, as like with the rest of these prompts there was no beta. And also for the late, very late, submission. I am dedicating Dec to a lot of Secret Santa and zine projects that I am really excited for!
> 
> Big thanks to Del, and Smut Sunday for helping me crank this out! (Please go check out her wonderous Raphadetta smut/works! She truly feeds us all who ship rarepairs!)

~*~

Stretching his arms high above his head, Sylvain grimaced as he felt the bones in his neck crack in protest from being hunched over his desk for hours. He’d been at it all day. Confined to his personal study since breakfast, looking over various missives and petitions from all across Fódlan from nobles and commoners alike.

There were even a few sealed documents bearing the official signets of the leaders of Sreng, who had, in the last few years since the war, finally begun to agree to peaceful negotiations. Something he took great pride in, personally.

He had his wife and King's backing to thank for that. Both had approved of his plan to establish peace talks with the warring tribes pushing at their borders, preferring words to swords. There had been enough war and bloodshed; it was time for a new approach.

It was all part of a grander design, one Sylvain and his beloved had been planning for some time before the war had come to its bloody conclusion. A plan the newly crowned king was all too happy to support, since it resonated with the ideals of his much younger self, who’d dreamed of peace for his kingdom.

In the years following the war against the Empire, and it's late Emperor, the former students of the Blue Lion class had been relentless in the restoration of their lands. Not to mention the new surrounding territories they'd gained from the Alliance and Empire.

With a groan, he fell back into his chair. Running a weary hand down his tired face, he felt the thick whiskers of his beard. The facial hair, meticulously trimmed and cared for, served as a reminder to the years that had passed since Dimtri, once called the mad king, had wrestled the throne from his late half-sister.

Now, there was peace. Hard won, and while they all still bore their scars, the former students of the Blue Lions class were content.

Extending their hands out to their neighbors, who their predecessors had kept at bay, was the first step in bringing about change to Fodlan. They already had allies, powerful political figures at that, in Almyra and Brigid. Dedue, followed closely by Mercedes, was already working on the revitalization of Duscar, with Dimitiri’s blessing. 

The matter of making amends for the evil done towards the people of Duscar was of great, personal importance to the king. And, against his advisors' wishes, he often traveled to the ruined lands himself to help oversee his former aide and his wife’s progress.

Which was fine with Sylvain, as it left him more one on one time with his wife without Dimitri's envious gaze following after them.

He knew better than to be jealous, of course. Byleth had made it clear, despite his initial concern, that she held no romantic feelings towards Dimitri and his wife was nothing but honest, sometimes brutally so.

Still, he knew that the king's heart still held some form of affection for her. Having him far away, helping Mercedes and Dedue in Duscar, where his wistful glances couldn't bother him, was a small blessing that made his days easier.

He'd always consider Dimitri family, and his friend, but the war had been hard on their friendship. His madness and disregard for his people and kingdom had been unbearable. He didn't want to test it further with the young king's unrequited feelings towards his wife.

If only Seteth could be so accommodating, he thought wistfully.

Despite his fidelity and staunch support of his wife's endeavors, it was no secret the man held no love for the Archbishop's husband.

During his days as a student Seteth had often been the one to call, or drag, the young noble into his office for innumerous lectures regarding his philandering and late night excursions.

When Byleth had announced that she, who was to be the new head of the church, and Sylvain were to be married the man had about had a heart attack. The look of horror and disbelief on his face was something Sylvain was unlikely to ever forget, that was for sure.

It didn't seem to matter to him that since they'd entered into a committed relationship that Sylvain had remained faithful to Byleth. Hell, he hadn’t been with anyone before her for almost five years, following her disappearance and the fall of the monastery. 

Or that he continued to aid and endorse her in everything that she did, both publicly and privately. Turning his flowery words and charm on the nobles who would dare oppose the reformations she was trying to put in place. Sylvain felt he had more than proven himself enough for Seteth to earn at least the benefit of a doubt, or a second chance.

Seteth felt otherwise.

The holy man went out of his way to interfere with his and Byleth's relationship. In subtle ways, of course. He'd never outright denounce the couple, at least in public. But he could hinder their day to day with little things, like endless meetings and paperwork.

Today was one such day, unfortunately. Granted, Sylvain had about as much paperwork waiting for him as Byleth it turned out so with a resigned heart he’d thrown himself into his work. Confined to the office that had once belonged to his late father-in-law for most of the day, Sylvain began to feel the toll of his wife’s absence.

He missed her.

He'd arrived at Garreg Mach three days ago, and in that time he and Byleth had barely spent anytime alone together. He missed her soft, kind smile and the twinkle in her eye whenever he did or said something amusing or witty. He missed the warmth of her body, which fit so perfectly against his own, their differing sizes a compliment to the other.

Safe to say, they hadn’t even been left alone long enough to properly enjoy each other's company either. 

Even after they retired for the evening to the grand chambers belonging to the reigning archbishop, Byleth was often pulled from his arms with something that needed her immediate attention. Leaving him alone in bed, cold and wanting for her touch.

At this point Sylvain was willing to risk even Seteth walking in on them, perhaps with Byleth bent over her desk, scarring the man for life if it meant he could at least be intimate with his own wife.

Back home they at least had the luxury of their own time, with fewer attendants and problems to disturb them. They could just relax and be together, with little else to bother them.

He missed those nights. Curled up in their bed, or by their fire where it could just be the two of them. They could spend hours with each other, simply just being together. He cherished those simple, quiet moments with Byleth just as much as he did their more passionate embraces.

He’d never thought he could love someone so, to the point where he craved their very presence. Least of all his wife, who he’d long resigned himself to being a stranger to him, before Byleth knocked some sense into him. Encouraging him to take the reins on his life, and live how he wanted and not how others expected.

But now, once again it seemed outside forces were interfering in his affairs.

Damnitt, why was it so hard to spend even just a little time with his own wife?!

Having had enough, he decided it was high time he corrected this grievance. Getting up, his backside a tad sore from the long hours glued to a chair, he quietly opened and closed his office door.

Creeping past Seteth’s office, his door thankfully closed, he made his way to the main audience chamber. The all too familiar stone halls were dark, save for the generous amount of firelight provided by the many torches lit along the walls.

He frowned, when had it gotten so late without his noticing? Had he really spent this whole time in his office, locked away for the whole damned day?!

Nodding to the guards who stood vigilant outside the chamber, he was grateful they allowed him to pass so easily. He was the Archbishop’s husband after all so he hadn’t expected too much fuss. Still, he was afraid any commotion would somehow alert the green haired man he was actively trying to avoid, and ruin his plans.

The audience chamber, where Byleth held court, usually bustling and filled with priests and visiting dignitaries, was dark and empty. Sylvain was thankful he didn’t scare as easily as some, recalling some of his former classmates, Ashe and Lysithea in particular, otherwise he’d be having second thoughts as he quickly strode through the room. 

It was almost tomb-like, and just as foreboding as he passed the towering statues and pillars. Even the throne, unassuming and innocent as it sat at the far end of the large chamber, raised atop a small flight of steps, looked somewhat ominous. He wasn't ashamed to admit a small bit of relief when he finally came upon her own private office door. 

He could still make out the candle light from the small wedge between the door and hard floor. He knocked gently, before testing the handle. It gave easily, unlocked and he smiled in success.

Hearing the door to her office open with a whining creek, Byleth lifted her head to see who had come to visit her amid her duties. Her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of him, which sent his heart into a frenzy, even more so when an excited smile spread across her lovely face.

She looked as tired as he had felt. No doubt drained from the piles of paperwork and missives Seteth had no doubt been piling on her all day that he could see stacked on her desk.

The man was a monster. A complete and utter demon.

Byleth was head of the church, and an extremely important figure in politics these days, but she was also only human. She worked tirelessly for her people, and deserved at least some downtime to rest and relax, just like anyone else.

It was a good thing she had him, to help with such things.

Before Sylvain could offer his services for such a task, his words were stolen from him as Byleth all but threw herself into his hard chest, knocking the very air from his lungs.

"Did you miss me that much, By?" he chuckled, secretly pleased. He wrapped his arms around her, relishing the familiar heat of her pressed up against his body. "I'm just down the hall, you know?"

"And yet you feel like you're a continent away," she mumbled, nuzzling into his chest. "I saw you at breakfast, and still it feels like it's been days since we've seen each other."

He sighed, "I know what you mean, I couldn't take it anymore so I snuck out to see you. I didn't realize how late it had gotten all of a sudden."

"Late? What time is it exactly?!"

"Late, very late." he admitted, letting his hand run over her soft hair. "I didn't realize either until I left my office and saw how dark it'd gotten. I'd had my curtains closed all day, so that hadn't helped me at all."

"Blast it," she cursed softly. "Not that I'd notice if it had become darker anyways with all the papers Seteth has been bringing me. I don't think I've looked up for hours."

"Hey now, it's all good," he assured, tilting her chin up so he could see her beautiful face. "Think we can manage to steal the rest of the evening to ourselves? Let the paperwork take a backseat, it's not like it won't know where to find us in the morning."

"Please," she agreed, pulling him down by the collar of his shirt to capture his lips.

They began chastely enough, simply enjoying the feel of one another's lips but time apart drew them closer with urgency. Deepening their embrace as their hands and mouths began to wander of their own accord, their hunger for each other only grew. 

Neither seemed particularly interested in stopping as the heat between them began to escalate, needing to reacquaint themselves with the other on at least a physical level. Sylvain nipping sweet and tender kisses along her jawline and down her neck, delighting in the small noises he evoked from her, while Byleth gripped and pulled at his arms. Kissing where she could, and cursing the damned attire that kept a thin barrier between them.

Wincing suddenly, Byleth pulled away and Sylvain frowned.

"Are you alright?" he asked in concern.

She sighed again, rolling her neck and shoulders. "Yes, just a bit stiff from sitting for so long."

“Here, how about you let me help you relax.” He grinned, gently pushing her back against the edge of the large desk.

It was funny to imagine this office, this desk, had once been lady Rhea’s. Where she worked long hours into the day and night. Maybe that lifestyle was something she and Seteth were used to, but Sylvain had far more creative, and pleasurable activities in mind for the work space of the most holy.

"Sylvain, we can't-" she protested weakly, but allowed him to move her as he wished. "Not here, what if someone walks in?"

"Let them, it will be their own fault for not knocking, and I am only fulfilling my husbandly duty of ensuring my wife's complete sexual satisfaction," he countered, with an indifferent shrug

"And if said intruder is Seteth?"

He flashed her a wicked smile, before resuming his attention to the bare skin of her neck. He was careful to massage the flesh gently, earning a delicious moan from his wife. "All the better, he will see how I aid in her grace's need for immediate stress relief."

Byleth giggled, "A desperate need indeed. However would I manage my position without you, dearest husband?"

"I could think of a few  _ other  _ positions we could try, if you're curious?"

“Syl, you're awful!”

“I try” he confessed, as he travelled from her neck to her chest.

The dress she wore was simple enough, humble in design despite the fine fabric it had been sewn from. The cut was surprisingly daring, bearing her pale, creamy shoulders for him to enjoy as well the dip into her ample cleavage.

As a teacher her regular attire had been positively scandalous, yet still somewhat more conservative when compared to the likes of professor Manuela who proudly displayed her assets for all to see. It was more her tights, and short, black shorts that caught the attention of many a student's roaming eye. Her legs shapely and strong, her backside round and firm, and further up her glorious breasts.

Sylvain had lost count how many times he'd fantasized about peeling off her armor, running his mouth over the generous swell of her breasts. Making her arch and whimper at his experienced touch, as he did now.

The expensive fabric of her dress wasn't just fine, but also thin enough he could feel the tender bud of her nipple as it hardened under his tongue. His hand slipped just as easily beneath the hem, running along her outer thigh. He feels the soft flesh, as well as the lines of scars only he will ever touch or know.

It’s a privilege he cherishes, as his fingers glide adoringly over each sliver of marred flesh, before dipping between her legs where she burns most hot. He finds silk, in lieu of her more conservative cotton smalls, and grins in surprise. He recognizes them as part of a set Dorothea had gifted her on her wedding night, much to the former mercenary’s embarrassment. The songstress had exquisite taste, and Sylvain had been eager to see them on his wife but Byleth, in unexpected bashfulness, only wore them occasionally.

"Oooh, someone's wearing their special underwear," he observes, his voice husky against her breast. “Did you wear these, hoping maybe I would come visit you, knowing full well what they do to me, love?”

She giggles, actually giggles, like a naughty maiden caught in some sinful act, and he takes great delight in turning that girlish giggle into a wanton moan as he palmed her expertly. Grinding his hand against her pelvis, he feels her wetness as her desire begins to soak through the fine silk of her underwear. Writhing on her desk, Byleth’s movements became greedy for more friction as her hips rolled in earnest against his hand, and he couldn’t help but draw out his teasing at the sight.

Bringing his thumb along the dampening material, searching, he found the thrumming bud that often had her screaming, nay begging, his name if played just right. Oh, and he was a master of this particular instrument.

Making his way down her body, until his knees hit the floor, hard, cold stone digging in protest against his knees. His mouth was quick to join his hand, replacing his thumb for but a moment, as his tongue sought her aching nub through her smalls.

“Fuck, Sylvain-!” His wife cried out, hips trying to lift off the surface of her desk, but his hands held her firmly in place.

He takes his time removing her satin delicates, drawing out the anticipation knowing full well what it would do to her. Hearing her whimper in protest, he grinned wolfishly.

For such a usually patient woman and tactician, she was awfully needy and demanding when it came to her own pleasure.

"Easy, love…" he soothed, returning to his place between her legs. "Just be patient."

Neither of them liked to address his time with his past lovers, but it was in these private moments that Byleth reaped the benefits of his long nights out and about like some horny tom cat on the prowl. His skill alone with his tongue brought her to new heights of delirious ecstasy, leaving her a babbling mess, completely at his mercy.

"Syl…" she gasped, fingers digging into his hair and scalp as he enjoyed her at his leisure. Talented fingers slip easily into her aching core, wet and waiting to be filled and he feels Byleth arch at the intrusion with a pleased moan.

Her legs spread wider, shaking, and he knows she’s close so his tongue moves more insistently, his fingers demanding, as her voice grows in volume. He’s almost disappointed that there are none to hear her keens of pleasure, a testament to their union and his skill. What he wouldn’t give to see the hot, blushing faces and the whispers that would surely follow them after. 

She comes suddenly with such a cry of abandon that Sylvain can’t help but smile, feeling her quiver and clench around his twisting fingers. A hapless puddle on her desk, he continued to lap at her juices, which had begun to trickle down her thighs, like a man dying of thirst in order to keep her desk, somewhat, dry. 

Her dress is only a little stained, and will need cleaning after their dalliance, but that was of little importance to him at the moment, too proud of the pleasure he had brought his wife at the moment to be concerned. Though, after a few long, slow licks along her slit, which made her shiver and whine at the overstimulation, he did make a half-hearted effort to help her straighten herself out.

“P-perhaps we should continue this -” She panted, trying to catch her breath as Sylvain readjusted her dress. “In our own chambers?”

"Dear, wife,” he hummed, as he made his way back up her body with well placed kisses over her dress. “Have you no sense of adventure? Haven’t you ever wondered how thrilling it would be if I took you right here? Bent over your desk, gasping and crying out for me, nails digging marks into the wood, as I fuck you into oblivion?”

“Gods, you're terrible…” She gasps, kissing him soundly once he reaches her lips. “I’ve missed you so much, you have no idea.”

“Me too, you should let me show you just how much,” he urged, desperately pressing the length of his body against hers. His taller frame nearly overtook her, as he brought her closer so that she could  _ feel  _ just how much he’d missed her. He felt like he was going to burst, the very thought of sinking into her velvety heat driving him to near-madness.

“If you're going to make me scream properly, I would rather it be in our own bed,” she insists. “Where there's more room, and bed posts…”

Well, that settled that. Lifting her easily off of her desk, for such a fierce creature his wife practically weighed nothing, Sylvain carefully twisted the knob to her office door. Opening it just enough, he kicked it swiftly open the rest of the way with his foot.

“Sylvain, I can still walk, you know!” She laughs, wiggling until he set her down on her own feet.

“Well, we definitely need to change that.”

She matches the salacious grin on his face at the remark, hips swaying temptingly as she strides ahead of him in earnest. He’s no less eager, but pauses a moment when something catches his eye.

“Wait just a moment, By.”

“Hmmm, Syl? What’s wrong?” She stops, turning back to regard her husband, curious as to why he would want to delay their lovemaking when he had almost taken her in her own office just a moment ago.

Smiling slyly, Sylvain nodded towards the golden throne sitting at the end of the room. Once the symbol of Rhea’s authority and status as head of the church. Sylvain recalled the older woman, holy and pristine in her astute attire, sitting upon the sovereign chair as she passed her judgement onto others.

Sylvain had other ideas for the blessed altar.

Byleth flushed, reading his thoughts all too easily. "Sylvain! No!"

Smiling deviously, he released her hand as he made his way backwards. His eyes never left her, their honey brown color burning intensely with his desire.

Turning, he regarded the throne thoughtfully, just for a moment, before taking a seat.

"Sylvain-!" She hissed, trying to keep herself from laughing. "If Seteth catches you, he's going to burst a blood vessel!”

"What? I'm not doing anything wrong," he protested, in a voice that was anything but innocent. "Merely keeping my wife's throne warm, not to mention stretching my legs a bit. I've been sitting at my desk all day, you know."

"Oh, you poor thing," Byleth laughed, “Perhaps we should make time for some drills, just for old times sake? Maybe some try and get some riding in, I think your form could use some work.”

“We could get some riding practice in right now, if your grace wishes, '' he purrs, loving the way she flushes at his words. 

She was so pretty when she blushed. His fierce mercenary, demurring like a maid.

With deft fingers, he reaches for the strings of his trousers, pulling them loose with a few quick movements. Feeling his wife’s gaze on him, he grinned mischievously as he palmed the growing bulge hidden within his smalls. 

Goddess, he groaned. It felt so good. It had been far too long since he’d touched himself, blasted paperwork and meetings kept him too overworked to think straight let alone find time to relieve himself. Seteth’s aggravating monopolization of his wife’s time didn’t help matters.

After a moment of teasing, he reached into his undergarment and released himself, fully exposing his throbbing manhood out in the open for his wife’s viewing pleasure.

“Ahhh…” He sighed, as he settled deeper into the chair. “That’s much better, don’t you think?”

Byleth’s eyes widened in surprise, if possible turning even redder at the sight of him exposing himself so freely. On the holy throne of the Archbishop, no less! Taking his seduction a step further, with his free hand he reached up and began to unbutton his shirt, exposing his broad chest to her as well. Dark, downy red curls covered his pectorals, still impressive and firm, as well as a few eye-catching scars. Earned from battle, some were big and some small, mere scratches of a lance or missed arrow, but all she knew too well from long nights memorizing their shape and feel.

Even after the war they both had kept themselves in good shape, as she enforced regular training sessions every now and then. If not to be prepared for any potential attacks or skirmishes that threatened their peace, then at the very least provide some time away from their regular duties as well as some manner of stress relief. If they couldn’t fuck, then they could fight.

Biting her lip, she couldn't bring herself to turn away. She knew, somewhere in the back of her mind where logic and sensibility had been pushed away in favor of her growing lust, that this was wrong and perhaps a tad blasphemous. However, despite being the head of her own religion, she had never been raised to adhere to such piety before. So, why start now?

"See something you like, my love?" 

He was quite the picture to behold, legs splayed open, his cock hard and at attention in his grasp as he stroked himself slowly and with leisure. Those beautiful honey brown eyes of his, burned a deeper caramel as they stared back at her, daring and inviting. The rake was actually challenging her, his coy, come-hither smirk taunting as he relaxed on  _ her  _ throne and pleasured himself.

“There’s plenty of room for both of us,” He continues, gesturing to his lap. Which indeed looked inviting, as she felt the familiar heat begin to awaken once again at her core. She squirms at the thought, “Or, would the Archbishop prefer to watch? It’s been so long since I last spilled my seed, and I think I deserve to enjoy myself and take my time, if you're willing to stand right there and wait, unless…”

To his immense satisfaction he didn’t have to wait for her answer, as Byleth had already crossed the small distance between them, hands eager on his muscled thighs. Her soft touch, warm even through the fabric of his breeches, made his hips buck, and the heat in his belly tighten. Fuck, it had been too long.

Kneeling between his opened legs, Byleth looked near reverent as she leaned forward. Offering a flicker of her wet tongue against his shaft before pulling back to look back up at him with those piercing eyes of hers. Always, it felt as if she could see into his very soul. He swallowed hard, biting back a whimper as his cock twitched. He needed more of her tongue, her mouth on him as she knelt before him.

Having the Archbishop, his wife, on her knees and sucking him greedily was a deliciously obscene indulgence. One he’d never imagined would come to pass in reality, and yet here they were. His beloved, who saw his lustful stare and continued her wicked teasing, revenge he mused perversely as she ran her skilled tongue along his length once again.

Releasing himself, she took hold of him in his place. Her hands, strong and calloused from years wielding a sword, yet also surprisingly soft, worked him expertly as she took him in her mouth. He lost all coherent thought as she spun her tongue in ways around his head that should have been criminal, especially for an assumed holy woman.

Sylvain had never been more thankful that his wife hadn’t grown up within the confines of the church, weighed down by it’s pious teachings and puritan views. Lest this sweet debauchery wouldn’t have been possible. Reveling in her attentions, his fingers threaded through her mint green tresses, pulling gently as he encouraged her to take as much of his length as she could manage without choking.

There was no hubris in the boast of his size, as, like most things in his life he once despised, he had been blessed and was often the envy of lesser men save a few of his classmates who were also well endowed. 

After about a year of marriage Byleth had become accustomed to his girth and length, in many regards to their relations and to his pleasure. What had once been a scorned tool, another gift he squandered with it’s ill-use, he now happily submitted to the fulfillment of his wife’s desires.

He loses the ability to determine time, or think at all, as she continues to suck him off. Byleth eventually releases him with a wet ‘pop’, and his instant remorse at the loss is replaced with victory as she climbs atop him, balancing herself on the arms of the throne. 

She makes quick work of her dress, hastily pulling the fine fabric over her head in a smooth motion and tossing it carelessly aside to the floor. Leaving her gloriously naked and bare for his eyes. Her silky underwear long forgotten back in her office, he realizes in his lustful haze. Byleth helps him with the rest of his shirt, all but ripping the remaining buttons in her haste.

Free to feel flesh against flesh, Sylvain grabs her by the waist and holds her. Helping her keep steady, he licks his lips, watching with hooded eyes as she begins to lower herself onto his cock. She takes him, inch by inch, until he is fully sheathed within her wet heat.

Her head falls back in bliss at the sensation, and Sylvain can only mirror her sounds of pleasure. Their time apart had made him more sensitive to her welcoming flesh, and he’s almost overwhelmed by it all. She feels absolutely divine. Gripping him so tightly, he could easily spend the next hour just sitting on the velvet cushion of her throne, relishing the way their bodies are joined so intimately. Yet, it's a connection beyond mere flesh and lust. Deeper and more primal, he fails to put a proper word to it.

Byleth, however, had other plans. The want of him inside her finally achieved, she wastes little time in satisfying the roar in her veins, impatient for that mind shattering, white heat that left her gasping and stuttering. The pace she sets is deep, brutal, as her nails dig into the meat of his shoulders. The flash of her eyes, driven and focused, reminds Sylvain of days past, when she would ride into the heat of battle during the war.

A warrior goddess, a beautiful death, atop her black warhorse as she took their enemies head on. Her legendary sword, made of ancient bone, cutting down all who would dare challenge her. Hair sweat soaked and matted against her face and neck, she was a vision on the battlefield. Benevolent and cruel, merciful and merciless. She was everything she needed to be in order to win the day, truly divine yet mortal all at the same time wrapped within an impossible vessel, and Sylvain knew not a single soldier in their ranks who wouldn’t have followed her into hell itself if asked.

If she desired, he’d be the first to follow her into hellfire. Always by her side, always ready to take up arms in her name and the future they craved. Carving their names in history, breaking the chains of tradition and compliance as they took hold of their destinies against what their predecessor’s expected of them.

Byleth was not Rhea, never would be. Sylvain was not his father, he refused to be.

He had married a woman he’d chosen, a woman he loved and who loved him in turn for all his blessings and faults. She took him as the man he was, not the man he was expected to be. Sylvain regarded the woman who sat astride his lap, riding him for all he was worth like the marvel she was.

“Fuck, By...just like that, love.” He grunted, hands firm, almost digging into the sweet swell of her backside as she moved, urging her onward at a gallop. Head falling against the back of the throne, vaguely aware of the sweat that trickled along his burning flesh, he lost himself in the mounting pleasure that stormed through their bodies. “Take what you need, just let me come with you..!”

Her cries of ecstasy and the sound of skin slapping wetly filled the empty hall, bouncing off the walls and heightening in their intensity as she rode him faster as she neared her completion. The very thought, and feeling as her inner walls tightening around his cock, pulsing and molten, was quickly urging him to his own finish.

There would be time, goddess above he swore there would be more time for them to fully indulge in every pleasure that had been denied them these last few days. If he had to run Seteth through with his family’s lance, so be it! He couldn’t go another three days without her touch, without her heat or her sweet smile.

“Syl, gods above, I’m-!”

“Come - Come on, love!” He grit, desperate, ready to lose it. The throne beneath him rocks harshly against the floor, and its a wonder it doesn’t break under the strain. He was there, right at the precipice, the need to release pure torture as he held on, every nerve in his body on fire from the effort. He just needed her to fall over with him. He wouldn’t be accused of finishing before her, not like this, when she was so close. He was, however, not above begging. “Please, please, please…!”

Grasping his face in her hands, she pulled him close, capturing his lips in a final, sloppy kiss. He barely acknowledged the scrape of teeth on his tongue, the taste of copper as it filled his mouth. No, he only felt Byleth. Her whole body, taught and tense as an arrow, ready to release as it finally gave in. That was all it took, and he followed after her so quickly his mind spun as he welcomed the sweet high that drove all other sense away. Leaving only them, their bodies twitching and grasping at each other as if they were lifelines, keeping them tethered to this earthly plane of existence.

It takes them a few moments to gather themselves, and Sylvain can already feel the pounding in his skull beginning to start as the blood rushes back to his brain. A consequence he gladly bears for having spent too long without his wife’s attentions, a mistake he will be sure to rectify in the following days. Seteth and his blasted paperwork be damned.

“A-are you alright?” He asks, gently running his hands down her bare back as he continues to hold her to his broad chest. She nods, her whole body trembling as she gasps for air. He is in a similar state, shivering as the sweat on his skin begins to cool in the chill of the night. Amid his post-orgasmic haze he wonders if the legs of the throne has left marks on the floor from their harsh rocking. They’d definitely put the poor chair through its paces, in ways he was certain Rhea had likely never done before.

Then again, the woman had turned out to be a giant dragon and several hundreds of years old so who knew, maybe…?

"I love you," Byleth sighs, content and sated as she enjoys their embrace.

He smiles happily, basking in their shared adoration. "I love you too."

“We should definitely go to our room now,” Peppering his face with soft, sweet kisses that make him putty in her hands, she laughs breathlessly. “Before someone comes to investigate all that noise we just made -”

As if on cue, Sylvain hears the all too familiar creek of the grand door to the audience chamber as it swings open, making them both freeze in horror, followed by the sure steps and voice of an all too familiar nuisance.

“Your grace, I hate to bother you so late but - FOR THE LOVE THE GODDESS!!!”

_Well, what do you know._ Sylvain smiled wryly, as Byleth cursed loudly and attempted to hide her indecency by burying his face into her ample bosom. _Some daydreams do come true._

**Author's Note:**

> Hehehe, hope you enjoyed! (I know these two did!)


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